Improv Ride: The Forest and the Trees

Between Downpours, Moores Mill Mount Rose Road

13 November 2021

Way back in my early days of leading rides, when all we had were paper maps and physical sign-in sheets, there were a few instances where people drove into the parking lot, saw who was already assembled, and drove out again. 

I know the feeling. I was on the fence about joining Dave H's Saturday ride out of Skillman Park. The route's halfway point would be at a kind of sucky bagel place three miles from my house, and the people who were signing up would test my ability to keep up. The forecast and the participants kept changing, both for the worse. When Plain Jim, the only available Slug this weekend*, dropped out, I did too.

I wondered if perhaps I should work on my speed, which I haven't done in forever. That's a mug's game, though. No matter how much faster I get, it'll never be enough. I'd spend all my time staring at my computer. I'd miss the forest and the trees. I'm out here to look at the trees.

I planned to ride on my own and get back before noon, after which there would be rain and wind. At 8:30 a.m. I was ready to go, but I puttered around the house, waiting for the temperature to go up a little. While puttering, I happened across a Facebook post from John K, who was also contemplating a solo ride and keeping an eye on the forecast.

At 9:45 we met at Twin Pines. "Let's do an improv ride," I suggested. "We take turns deciding where to go next."

I was ready to turn left out of the parking lot when he asked, "What's that path across the street?"

"Dunno," I said. In all this time I'd never noticed it. So we went straight. 

The path is paved. It took us through a small patch of woods and around an athletic field before dumping us into a school parking lot. I sort of knew where we were. We improvised our way back to Lawrenceville-Pennington Road and headed towards the Pole Farm.

We passed the dog park on Federal City road. It was teeming with pooches.

After turning this way and that, we found ourselves on Stony Brook Road. John commented on how pretty the stream was, so I stopped for pictures, which he was all in favor of doing. I've been trying not to stop so much these days; I didn't take any photos at all last weekend (and there were no blog posts as a consequence; win-win?).

The big hill on the north side of Stony Brook is much more fun to climb when one is deep in conversation.

We went east on Mountain Church, marveling at the yellow leaves above us and falling around us. We agreed that it's like a cathedral up there.

On Rileyville, I swung left into C's driveway. She and I share an office; she moved into her Sourland house six months ago. "I'm in your driveway," I texted.

She came out, showed us her magnificent yard, which is loaded with Sourland boulders and tall trees. We stood there for what must have been at least 20 minutes. They both have chihuahuas, so there's that unspoken bond, I guess. C asked if we were headed to Boro Bean. I hadn't thought about that.

"I don't have a muffin pocket though," I said, because my pockets were full of the glove liners and arm warmers I'd shed at Twin Pines. I'd have to figure something out.

To the north, the sky was a menacing silver-gray. "We'd better get going," I said, at least three times, before we actually did. 

We turned north and then west onto Mountain Road, which was even more beautiful and cathedral-like than Mountain Church. I took some video with my Fly12, which I'll post at some point, in an all-video blog. John said, "You could just do loops up here all day and not get bored."

I took a snapshot of the intersection at Linvale.

Then we turned north, gliding through more beauty at the top of the mountain, before we hooked east on Snydertown and descended the top part of Stony Brook. The gray sky behind us illuminated the yellow leaves falling all around us.

I turned us east on 518, toward Boro Bean. The kind server inside made a point, after we picked our muffin flavor, to have us choose which one of that flavor we wanted. I pocketed a gingerbread one with a big top. We both got coffee in ceramic mugs and found an open table on the porch.

Looking at the gray sky, we checked the forecast. There was a massive front moving northeast, looking like it would miss us. All we'd see, according to the radar, was a little patch between us and Pennington. "Rain starting in 23 minutes," AccuWeather said.

When the rain started, it wasn't any 23 minutes. It was more like 2 or 3. I dashed out to Miss Piggy to put my arm warmers back on. I always carry a couple of extra sandwich bags. One was for the muffin, the other for the camera, to keep them both dry. We waited out the downpour; it only lasted a few minutes, enough to get our bikes wet. That's what the bandana in my front pack is for. 

The most direct route home was 654 back to Moores Mill. As we pushed off, we heard thunder from the north. "Ooookay," I said. We didn't have a choice anyway.

We were halfway to Tyburn Road when I felt something hard hit my leg. 

"Owwwww!" I shouted. I've ridden through rain, snow, and sleet, but, in my 21 years as a roadie, this was my first experience with hail. It's not as sharp as sleet, but it packs a bigger punch.

Behind me, John was laughing. 

We were grateful to get off of the main road and onto Tyburn, by which time the hail and rain had stopped. 

To the north, the sky was still dark. Just south of that, the sun was poking through, casting an otherworldly silver light onto the yellow and red trees and the gunmetal gray sky to our south. Despite the threat from both directions, we had to stop to take pictures.

John took his a little farther down the hill:

As it is with light like this, the moment was fleeting. "I need to do this in glass," I said. I spent the trip down Pennington-Rocky Hill Road silently figuring out how to do it, while also keeping an eye on the sky.

We turned on Old Mill, and I had to dig my camera out again to catch the silver light on the tree with the white bark:

We turned back onto Federal City. The dog park was completely empty.

As we approached the intersection with Lawrenceville-Pennington Road, a fierce gust of wind shot out of the north, hurling leaves down the road. 

"Whoa!" John shouted. "I can give you a ride home."

"Nah. I've got the tailwind." All he had to do was fight the gusts for the length of the picket fence, back to the parking lot.

I sailed the three-ish miles back home, arriving in my driveway in time for a few stray raindrops to fall. I'd have gone straight inside, but my neighbor from across the street, who was raking leaves in the wind, wanted to ask me a question.

"I see you out at night in the yard with a flashlight," he said. "Is there some sort of vermin you're looking for?"

I laughed. "It's a lantern," I explained. "And a camera with a macro lens. Spiders." Yeah, I'm that weird neighbor. 

We talked about mice and skunks for a few minutes, so I think I might have redeemed myself. 

I got inside before the worst of the wind arrived. There's always that one autumn storm that blows through and takes all the leaves from the trees, leaving winter in its wake. This wasn't that storm, but it won't be long.

 (*Two regulars are on the disabled list, and two others are recovering from their Covid booster shots. Did you get yours yet?)